


An Old Fashioned Love Song

by creepy_shetan



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Community: comment_fic, Gen, Inspired by Music, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 15:52:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1750169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creepy_shetan/pseuds/creepy_shetan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Chandler and Kent pass the time when they get stuck on a train.</p><p>(Originally posted 2013/4/21 as a fill for a prompt.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Old Fashioned Love Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SamuelJames](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamuelJames/gifts).



The day wasn’t over, and yet it couldn’t get any worse. While trailing two suspects for the better part of the afternoon, the team had been forced to split up: Miles and Mansell followed the man, Chandler and Kent followed the woman, and Riley followed other leads as she wasn’t convinced that either person was a murderer. 

Unfortunately, the light misty drizzle chose those hours to become a downpour on the four officers on the street. In minutes, Miles and Mansell had lost their man to a quickly hailed cab and Chandler and Kent had lost their woman in a suddenly busy tube station. Neither pair had learned anything useful about the suspects. Soaking wet and irritable, Miles rang Chandler to tell them they were to meet Riley at the police station as soon as possible in this godforsaken weather.

Since the rain showed no signs of letting up and they were more damp than wet after walking around the tube station, Chandler and Kent decided to take a train back. Hopefully, by the time they walked out of Whitechapel Station, the worst of the storm would have passed. 

Everything had been going well until there was a rail disruption on their line, causing their train to halt between stations -- a mere two stops from their destination. Their car wasn’t crowded, thankfully, but Chandler looked more and more uncomfortable with each passing minute. He and Kent were sitting together; an older man was reading on the far side of the bench and no one stood or sat directly in front of them. Chandler sat tensely, his only movements being his eyes darting between passengers and advertisements and his hands fidgeting in the pockets of his coat. Kent could tell that one hand was playing with his keys, possibly unconsciously, the DI wishing that he was driving along in his safe clean car rather than waiting in a dirty underground cage. It was obvious that he wanted to close his eyes and block out his surroundings, but also that he didn’t feel comfortable enough to let his guard down on public transit, despite having someone familiar nearby to watch out for both of them.

Kent hesitated half a second before getting Chandler’s attention.

“Sir, I have an idea. That is, if you don’t mind...” Kent said quietly, one hand reaching into his messenger bag. He withdrew a slim black mp3 player and unwound the attached tangle of headphones with a practiced ease. He wiped each earbud with a cleaning cloth before handing them to his boss.

Chandler looked uncertain, but he slowly placed one into each ear, watching Kent as he scrolled through his music. Kent found what he was looking for and hid the screen from Chandler.

“No, you have to guess, sir. Ready?” 

Kent waited for a small (and still doubtful) nod before pressing play.

After approximately ten seconds, Chandler’s eyes light up with recognition. 

“It’s ’Waterloo Sunset,’ right?”

Kent smiled in response. Chandler smiled back.

“Do you know the band, sir?”

Chandler looked almost offended by the question. His posture had visibly relaxed quite a bit in the past minute alone, his body now angled somewhat toward the DC.

“Of course I know. I’m surprised _you_ know as well, Kent.”

“Sorry, sir. I guess I figured you were more of the Frank Sinatra or Édith Piaf type than The Kinks. I have a little of that, too, if you want to hear it.”

Kent passed the mp3 player to Chandler, who began scrolling through the artists curiously. His eyebrows moved a little higher or lower a couple of times, until he stopped on two names that caught his eye.

“You listen to Otis Redding... and Dusty Springfield,” he stated, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Um, sir, have you found another song yet?” Kent deflected, his face tinting pink and he knew it.

“Yes and no. I like the section of bands that start with ‘The,’ but beyond that I can’t decide.”

Kent felt the mp3 player be placed into his open hand as he stared at his boss with his likewise open lips. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that DI Chandler was teasing him, but not the way that the other officers did -- Kent felt more like an equal, a friend, than a little brother. His tone had a warm, almost playful fondness to it that the DC suspected in his gut his boss rarely had the chance to use.

Kent snapped out of the momentary daze and spoke quickly without look down at the screen.

“Sir, do you mean The Allman Brothers Band, The Animals, The Beatles, The Cars, The Chambers Brothers, The Clash, The Doors, The Eagles, The Guess Who, The Jimi Hendrix Experience--“

Chandler started to laugh. Not a hearty deep sound, but something discreet and suitable for being stuck on the tube. He had more lines around his eyes than teeth showing through his lips. Kent marveled at how blue those eyes were under the dull and normally unflattering fluorescent lights.

“Yes, Kent, yes. Your alphabetical ordering from memory is very impressive. All I ask is that you don’t follow ‘Waterloo Sunset’ with ‘Tequila Sunrise.’”

“Understood, sir,” Kent replied with a startled laugh and a nod. He proceeded to compile a playlist in his mind while searching through his portable library. 

Whenever a new song started playing, Kent looked at his boss expectantly. Chandler would smile and quietly offer a title or a name, occasionally tentative but more often than not confident in his answers. Kent would confirm or correct. No other words were spoken. 

Kent was close enough to the earbuds to hear a faint tinny version of the music. It explained how the DC was able to nod his head to the beat or move his mouth along to the lyrics from time to time when Chandler glanced over at him or tried to sneak a peek at what track might be next. 

For a little while, they forgot about their motionless train car, their slowly drying clothes, and their open murder investigation.

After a few songs, the DI spoke again, his voice still carrying a hint of that strange playfulness yet mostly exhibiting more curiosity and disbelief.

“Do you have any music created _after_ you were born?”

“Yes, sir, just not very much of it. My flatmates have that well covered.”

“Ah,” Chandler was about to say more, but just then the train intercom sparked to life. He removed the earbuds to listen as a voice apologized for the delay and announced that they would be moving again shortly.

_“Thank you for your patience.”_

The DI showed the DC his wristwatch. Both were surprised to learn that they had been stuck for nearly half an hour; however, peering around at their fellow passengers, they could tell everyone else was more than aware of the passage of time.

Chandler and Kent shared a look, and then Chandler broke it to regard his own hands. They had been out of his coat pockets and had lain still in his lap for a long period now. He cleaned the earbuds just as Kent had earlier before handing them back. He then met Kent’s gaze again and held it.

“Thank you, Kent.”

“Y-you’re welcome, sir,” Kent said after a moment, clearly taken aback by the sincerity. He checked the mp3 player to stop the song before turning it off and stowing it away. He had already forgotten that his last choice was by Electric Light Orchestra, and the song hadn’t finished yet.

“However...”

Kent glanced up at the return of Chandler’s normal boss-like tone. 

“I could do without ‘Mr. Blue Sky’ playing on a mental loop.”

The DI tried to look stern and the DC tried to look apologetic. Neither quite succeeded.

“Call it wishful thinking, sir, for when we’re back above ground.”

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt: Whitechapel, Chandler/Kent, Joe finds lots of classic music on Emerson's mp3 player like The Doors, Otis Redding, Dusty Springfield, The Clash, The Jam, The Sex Pistols, The Kinks or ELO (as examples doesn't have to be exactly the same as ~~my~~ Kent's musical tastes.)  
>  The theme: Retro  
> Originally posted [here](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/420417.html?thread=67894593#t68100417).  
> I only own the writing.
> 
> For the curious... The title is from Three Dog Night's song of the same name.


End file.
